


skjei thanks

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Just Bros Doing Bro Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 12:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14188995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You can only joke about blowing someone so many times.





	skjei thanks

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure there's millions of these, but here's another one.

It’s really not fair. 

Realistically, Brady knows it’s kind of uncool of them to flirt like this all the time. They keep seeing other people on top of that, but always casually, _just in case_. And not talking about it. It pisses him off sometimes that Jimmy will only toe the line with him, like he’s not being obvious enough that every joke he makes about jerking Jimmy off is just as serious as it is funny. Jimmy’s not stupid. He knows. And Brady knows that Jimmy knows. 

He’s given up on it when Jimmy finally grows a pair. Actually, he’s texting a guy from Grindr at the same damn time that Jimmy is cooking, making a mess of the kitchen for the billionth time that he won’t clean until Brady staged an intervention. 

“You could help sometimes you know,” Jimmy says, “I’m not your housewife.”

He’s kidding, Brady can tell from the sound of his voice. He’s not sure what it is specifically, just that he knows Jimmy well enough to know. 

“I clean,” Brady says, “you never help with that.”

“You need food to survive,” Jimmy says, “nobody needs a weirdly spotlessly clean kitchen to survive.”

“Blow me,” Brady quips, and he totally doesn’t mean it. 

He means it when he’s squirting powerade into Jimmy’s mouth before games and Jimmy gives him that look. He isn’t being serious _now_. But of course now, with Brady about to send a text to get some ass for the first time in months, is when Jimmy decides that he means it. 

“Alright,” he says. 

“Fuck off,” Brady says, because that’s what he’s supposed to say. 

“I’m serious,” Jimmy says, “the chicken is gonna take 20 minutes.”

“Oh, great,” Brady says, “pencil me in.” His heart is pounding, and he’s not sure if they’re still joking or not. Brady has always kind of wanted Jimmy, but he always thought it was a joke on Jimmy’s end. When Jimmy comes around the couch, he doesn’t look like he’s kidding. 

“Jesus,” Jimmy says, “do I have to do everything in this place?”

“I can handle myself,” Brady says. He drops his hand to his sweats, and Jimmy crosses his arms. 

“You gonna watch?” he quips. 

“You’re so fucking dumb,” Jimmy says. He sits down on the couch, close to Brady, and Brady’s sure Jimmy must be able to hear his heartbeat. He’s a little offended, but not offended enough that he can ignore Jimmy’s hand on his thigh. He’s about to open his mouth and say something else stupid when Jimmy kisses him. 

Jimmy’s lips are soft, and Brady is caught between noticing that and the stubble against his upper lip. He reaches up to grab the back of Jimmy’s neck in one hand, and Jimmy _melts_ against him. Brady is half hard in seconds just from that and the weight of Jimmy’s hand on his thigh, over his sweats, not quite close enough. 

Jimmy is the one to deepen the kiss, and Brady reaches for Jimmy’s hip with his other hand. He wants to pull Jimmy into his lap, but he doesn’t, because there’s still a chance that Jimmy will move his hand. Still, he’s daydreaming about it, about the weight of Jimmy against him. He’s not sure what he wants more--Jimmy’s hand, his mouth, or--

He doesn’t get to choose, because Jimmy’s on his knees all of a sudden. Brady is lightheaded, not sure what to do with his hands. He grips the edge of the couch, and Jimmy tugs at his sweats. It’s all happening so fast that Brady’s had no time to process anything, but he thinks that might be a good thing. On the flip side, his dick is processing everything, especially the focus on Jimmy’s face when he gets Brady’s sweats over his thighs and pushes them down. Brady kicks them away and narrowly misses kicking Jimmy in the face, and he knows that this is serious when Jimmy doesn’t even make fun of him.

“My eyes are up here,” Brady croaks, because Jimmy hasn’t looked away from his boner but he also hasn’t moved to take it out of Brady’s underwear and it’s starting to get uncomfortable.

“Do you ever shut up?” Jimmy asks. Brady shifts his hips on the couch, and Brady pushes his knees apart, putting a hand on Brady’s knee. He palms Brady over his boxers, and Brady drops his head back against the top of the couch, because he can’t watch Jimmy look hungrily at him for another second without yanking his own boxers down and looking desperate. He has another moment of shock that this is _Jimmy_ kneeling between his legs, but at the same time it doesn’t seem that surprising at all, really.

“You have like fifteen minutes til the chicken is done,” Brady says. Jimmy squeezes the hand that’s still feeling along Brady’s dick, over his boxers, and Brady chokes back a sound he really doesn’t want Jimmy to hear.

“How long do you think this is gonna take?” Jimmy says. Brady feels like it’s gonna be a couple minutes at best but he’s not going to say that. 

“You’re all talk,” is what he says instead, and Jimmy finally pulls his boxers down. Brady doesn’t get to take them off. They’re just pooled around his ankles when Jimmy gets a firm grip on him and Brady lifts his head so he can watch. Jimmy doesn’t look up. He spits in his hand and it’s the hottest thing that Brady’s ever seen. Jimmy gets a few firm, sure strokes in before he makes eye contact, and it’s the right time for one of them to say something, but neither of them do. Brady’s having trouble not reaching for Jimmy, and when Jimmy looks away and takes Brady’s dick into his mouth he completely fails at that.

Brady exhales, and it almost comes out with some noise. Jimmy’s mouth is soft and hot and Brady can’t help it, he reaches down with one hand and gets his fingers into Jimmy’s short-cropped hair. Jimmy’s taking it slow, and for a second Brady thinks maybe Jimmy’s not so great at this. He feels smug more than anything, wondering if there’s something he’s finally better at than Jimmy is. Then, without any warning, Jimmy takes him deep, almost all the way, keeping his lips soft, and Brady actually does groan.

It’s embarrassing, but Jimmy’s not even going to stop to make fun of him for it. Instead he’s flattening his hand against Brady’s thigh, bobbing his head, following his mouth with his other hand. He’s very good at this and he definitely knows what he’s doing and Brady is having trouble keeping still, but he’s still trying to stay cool. It’s hard to do, even before Jimmy inhales audibly through his nose and drags his tongue along the underside of Brady’s dick. Brady tugs on Jimmy’s hair reflexively, trying to control himself. It backfires, because Jimmy groans, a hoarse, needy noise that Brady can _feel_ , and he ends up bucking his hips. He’s afraid for a second, but Jimmy takes it, and suddenly there’s nothing more that Brady wants to do than that, over and over. He wishes he was standing up so he could--

He can’t think anymore because Jimmy’s taken him in all the way and is hollowing out his mouth like he’s never wanted anything else in his life.

“Jesus Christ,” Brady groans. Jimmy pays no mind to his struggling. He’s merciless, one hand now flat on Brady’s stomach. Brady can’t take his eyes off of Jimmy, but he can feel every muscle in his body going tight, and he’s barely keeping himself together even before Jimmy pulls back. He works Brady over with just his hand, slick now from the work his mouth has been doing, and Brady twitches under him. The second Jimmy’s mouth is on him again he loses control completely, and he’s not quiet. He’s being kind of loud and his hips are moving, but Jimmy holds onto his thighs and takes it eagerly. When Brady is able to take a deep breath again and be still, he opens his eyes to see Jimmy looking up at him, still. His face is a mess. Brady’s stomach is a mess. He’s going to need to change his shirt. They’re going to need to get someone in to clean the couch.

Jimmy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Chicken’s gonna be burnt,” he says, and gets back to his feet.


End file.
